


...and on you my life turns

by rhiannon15900



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannon15900/pseuds/rhiannon15900
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle is arrested on suspicion of murder. Fortunately, there is a witness, only he's in hospital, unconscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...and on you my life turns

**Author's Note:**

> Rhiannon 15900 is the Rhiannon of Larton fame - unfortunately the name Rhiannon wasn't available on A03.
> 
> She isn't on line but I'll pass any comments/kudos on to her at regular intervals.  
> Hgdoghouse

...and on you my life turns

Rhiannon

　

 

 

Ray Doyle looked at the graffiti on the cell walls. Amazing what gems of literary endeavour you could find in such places. Well, his mother always said it was unlucky to start journeys on a Friday - first time he'd ever known her be right about anything.

And what the hell was he going to say to Cowley? Perhaps it had been just as well they hadn't allowed him that phone call.

Good evening, sir. Sorry to call you so late but I'm under arrest on suspicion of murder. No sir, they did not believe I am a member of your organisation as a) I have no ID b) I do not look or dress like one of Her Majesty's law officers and c) the only other person who could throw any light on the matter is unconscious in hospital and he has no ID either. d) Nearly forgot d) the victim was shot with my gun. Yes, sir, they did rather jump to conclusions. They thought I'd knocked myself out falling down the embankment getting away.

How did I come to loose my ID, gun and prisoner? I was afraid you'd ask me. I don't know, sir.

Oh, God. It might be better to send him a letter.

***

Cowley looked his operative up and down. "I'm not surprised they didn't believe you, Doyle. You give the impression of being dressed from the nearest dustbin. Still, I suppose falling down the embankment accounts for some of the filth. How much do you remember of the attack? Who else was in the carriage with you and Jansen?"

"The carriage was empty when we got on," said Doyle. "The idiots had locked the first class compartment and I couldn't get the key. I didn't want to risk missing the pickup. First a woman and baby got on. They travelled three stops. It was a slow, stopping train. A man got on when she got off. Put his bag on the rack and started to read. I remember looking at my watch and thinking only forty five minutes to go when the train stopped suddenly. Someone said there was an obstruction on the line and it had been raining hard. It's rocky, wooded country and I thought there'd been a landslide. A man came in for the tickets - well, I thought he was the ticket collector. There was another man behind him - didn't like the look of him. Then the other passenger got up. Jansen threw himself across me and that's when they must have sapped me and slung me off the train. I came to in custody, minus my ID. They said Jansen was dead.

"Describe the man who got into the carriage with you. The man who boarded last. He may have been an accomplice," said Cowley.

"Medium height, stocky build, plaid jacket, blue jeans, dark hair. I think he had one of those woolly hats pulled down. He spent his time reading and eating an apple. I can't remember anything else about him. He looked like a farm labourer."

Cowley consulted his notebook. "Well, from your description, that's the man in the hospital. You'd better come with me and identify him. I have informed the inspector that in spite of appearances you are unlikely to be the murderer."

"Thank you, sir. Any chance of breakfast? I didn't have time to eat last night and they didn't feed me this morning."

"Later, Doyle. We'll take a look at your travelling companion first."

 ***

"Yeah, that's him," said Doyle, looking down without enthusiasm. "I was right about the hair."

"Good. Now we need to know whether he is an accessory or an innocent bystander. In any event he is a witness. We also need to see his luggage and anything he had in his pockets.

"Ah, doctor. What's the patient's condition?"

"He's suffered a slight concussion and possible cracked ribs but he should recover consciousness shortly. He's been improving steadily and we'd prefer that he come out of it himself - less violent for the system. He's almost come to several times in the past hour, then slipped out again. His belongings are in the office."

Cowley nodded his thanks and he and Doyle went to investigate.

"He believed in travelling light, didn't he," said Doyle. "All he's got in his wallet is a Scottish five pound note and a one way ticket to Chester. No credit cards or driver's licence. Could be unemployed, going for a job."

"He'd have some identification if that was so, surely? A letter perhaps," said Cowley. "This wallet is far too light, Doyle. What's normally in yours. Just run through the items."

"Let's see. ID, credit cards, dry cleaner's tickets, driving licence, money, receipts, book of stamps, football season ticket for the grandstand. Oh, a photograph or two, restaurant cards. Every now and then I go through and throw half the stuff away."

Cowley pulled out his own wallet and opened it. "Mine is much the same, if with more regular pruning."

"He hasn't got a watch. Not even a signet ring," Doyle went on. "And that wallet couldn't have held half the usual junk. What about his bag? It's only a small hand grip."

"I've asked the police to release it from the train carriage. They'll bring it over. Ha! This may be it," said Cowley, as a young policeman came in with a bag Doyle remembered.

"Take a look, Doyle," said Cowley. "I want to phone the Inspector."

When Cowley returned Doyle was studying the contents of the bag.

"Very intriguing, sir. Half a bottle of scotch - unopened. I don't know the brand. Six apples. A razor, soap, flannel, hand towel. A paperback: 'The Case of the Scarlet Claw'. He was reading that on the train. A set of rosary beads and a prayer book. IRA, sir?" Doyle said hopefully.

"Under-financed for them, I would have thought," mused Cowley. "His clothes aren't new, but they're clean and well-mended. The army issue boots aren't new either. They've been repaired several times. No pyjamas. Not even a spare shirt or socks. So he was on a short trip. Or going home? Unless he's an Irish workman coming over here. But then he would have some identification. A passport. More money, surely. I'm inclined to believe he's a bystander because he seems such an unlikely accomplice with a bag of apples and a half of scotch."

Cowley picked up the prayerbook and flicked through it, then smiled suddenly. "It's quite simple really, Doyle, when you look at the evidence."

"Possibly, sir, but I haven't eaten for twenty four hours now and I don't think my brain is functioning too well," said Doyle wearily.

After that definite hint he was allowed to go to the snack counter and buy a packet of Marie biscuits and a paper cup of tea - all they had on offer. By the time Doyle returned the patient was stirring.

He opened his eyes and looked at the screens in puzzlement, then at Doyle. It was obvious he was unimpressed by what he saw. With twenty-four hours growth of beard, a dishevelled appearance and filthy clothes Doyle was not a prepossessing sight.

The doctor joined them. "Oh, good. "Now, gentlemen, he's my patient. I get first crack at him. Now, let's have a look at you." He bent over the man.

Cowley and Doyle were chivvied out by a nurse.

"Pity that," said Doyle, "he might have admitted something while he was still groggy."

"Possibly," said Cowley. "If he had anything to admit. But it wouldn't have been admissible as evidence, as you well know."

They heard the doctor talking before he started to chuckle.

"Bloody hell," said an aggrieved voice.

The doctor came out. "You may see the patient now, gentlemen, but go easy, he is still rather dazed. As long as he takes care for a few days he may leave this afternoon."

The man was propped up on the pillows, surveying them with considerable interest.

Dark blue eyes, thought Doyle. Couldn't tell that before.

"Good morning," said Cowley. He glanced at the medical chart. "Mr Bodie, how do you feel?"

"Like I've been thrown down a railways embankment. Are you the police?" He looked at Doyle suspiciously.

"No, CI5. My ID. Doyle doesn't have his at present but he is one of my men. Now, what can you tell us of events on the train?"

"I've never heard of your organisation and would prefer to talk to the police," said Bodie firmly.

Doyle sat back, interested to see what happened next.

"Very well," said Cowley. "the local police have a man on the way. He will interview you and vouch for us. Doyle, see if the Inspector has arrived, will you?"

"He's just coming, sir."

Cowley and Doyle withdrew as the Inspector went to the bedside. After a brief conversation with Bodie the Inspector joined them.

"He's all yours, Mr Cowley. I've explained you're not the Gestapo, or some sinister private army. You didn't impress him much, I'm afraid."

Cowley and Doyle returned to Bodie's bedside, where Bodie was tucking into a large bowl of porridge.

His appetite didn't seem to be impaired, thought Doyle bitterly.

"Well, Mr Bodie, I trust you can now give us the information we require," said Cowley briskly.

"Yes, sir, as much as I can remember."

"But first, your name is William Bodie?"

"Yes, sir."

"And to clear up a small mystery, you are a member of a religious order?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a Benedictine lay-brother of the monastery of St. Michael, near Hereford."

"Oh, hell, of course," muttered Doyle. "I didn't know they let your lot wander about the country on your own."

"I was not wondering about," said Bodie. "And as for looking after myself, you didn't do too well in spite of being armed to the teeth!"

"Mr Bodie! You will have plenty of opportunity to argue with Doyle later. Now, give me a full account of everything you remember."

Even Doyle had to agree that Bodie earned top marks for observation.

"Good," said Cowley. "A very full account. And to complete your story... You were travelling back to Hereford from where?"

"St. Benedict's, in Fort Augustus, Scotland. I've been staying there for six months on a course, learning all about the care of goats. We are considering starting a small milking herd. You'd better inform my abbott. I was to be met at Chester. I was staying there overnight. They will be wondering where I've got to."

"I'll phone your abbott now. He will be getting anxious. I imagine you were taking a great interest in your trip to the outside world," smiled Cowley.

"Yes, sir."

"And the scotch?" asked Doyle.

"A present from the abbott at St. Benedict's to mine. They make it there. They say it's very good."

"Oh, it is," said Cowley. "Doyle will stay with you while I phone your abbott."

"I couldn't decide about you," said Bodie candidly, when Cowley had left. "I could see the cuffs, just wasn't sure who was the prisoner at first. What happened to him?"

"Dead. Shot with my gun. I didn't do it. And he is no loss, but we could have done with his evidence. You're not my idea of a monk either. I thought they had shaven heads, beards, robes and sandals."

"Not practical when you're chasing sheep all over the place and working on the land. The rules are very relaxed on that now. I just wear my habit while I'm inside, or on special occasions."

Cowley came back into the room. "Your abbott was becoming concerned, Brother Philip. The monk who was waiting at Chester station reported your absence. I told the abbott we would need you in London."

Brother Philip opened his mouth, a stubborn expression on his face.

"You can argue about it on the way," said Cowley. "Your abbott instructs you to accompany Doyle and I. And the doctor says you're fit enough to travel. Your clothes will be brought to you."

A nurse entered with the garments. Cowley looked at them and winced.

"We may have to find others for you," he remarked. "We will wait outside."

"All right," said Doyle, as they waited outside, "I give up. How did you know."

"Well, once I looked at the prayer book, as you called it, it was easy. It's the type carried by a member of a religious order. It has the office of the day, and that kind of thing. Even a parish priest would carry identification - driver's licence, notification of church events - but a member of an enclosed order doesn't need all that. They'd just given him enough money for a sandwich and a hot drink on the way down. He was being met and taken care of at Chester. He normally wouldn't leave his monastery except to work nearby or, as in this case, for a special reason. Brother Philip was just moving from one home to another, so all he needed was his ticket, a little money for refreshments, and something to read on the journey. If it hadn't been for this incident he would be safely back at Hereford now, going about his duties."

"Instead, he's off to London with us," said Doyle.

"He may be able to identify someone from the books. He seems to have taken a great interest in everything. Probably enjoying his outing. His abbott warned me that he can be very stubborn and difficult to deflect once he's made his mind up to a course of action. But he will instruct Brother Philip to co-operate with us, where it does not conflict with his rule. I am also responsible for his spiritual well-being, and seeing that he is returned safely to Hereford."

The journey to London was uneventful. Doyle sat listening to his stomach growl; he still hadn't had a square meal.

Brother Philip, after studying the motorway, leaned back and closed his eyes. Doyle thought he was asleep until he noticed his lips moving slightly.

It was evening by the time they reached CI5 headquarters.

"Doyle, take Brother Philip to the canteen, I imagine he's hungry."

"Well, if he isn't, I am," said Doyle bitterly. "Come on, this way." Have to get him out of those damned boots, he thought. It sounds as if the Brigade of Guards is on my heels. Oh, God, only stuffed rolls left.

"'Lo, Mavis. Two ham rolls for me. And you?" He looked at his companion, who surveyed the food on display.

"Two cheese rolls, please."

Brother Philip chewed manfully. "It's very poor cheese," he remarked. "And worse bread."

"Yeah, they make it from gun cotton," said Doyle. "Government departments are noted for bad food - so we won't cost them much. Everyone tries to eat out, when they can afford it. I wonder where they'll stick you. Find one of your places close to London, I suppose."

"I won't be _stuck_ anywhere," said Brother Philip with emphasis. "Unless my superior agrees."

Doyle looked at him. "I'm going to enjoy this," he remarked.

Kristie appeared. "Mr Cowley wants you both in his office."

Cowley looked up as they entered the room. "I expect you are tired, Brother Philip so I won't be long. Doyle will be taking you home with him. He has a two bedroomed flat so you'll be quite comfortable there."

"No," said Brother Philip. "That would not be suitable. I wish to be returned to my monastery, or to be sent to a house of my superior's choice."

"I could," said Cowley, "have you stay in a cell here overnight."

Brother Philip greeted that remark with complete indifference.

"Probably seem like home to him," said Doyle, before he turned to Brother Philip. "Look, I don't like the idea any more than you do, but my flat isn't a bloody den of vice. Afraid you'll catch something there?"

"Doyle!"

Brother Philip looked bothered. "It isn't that, Mr Doyle. But I would like to speak to a superior of my order."

"I thought you would," said Cowley. "There is one on the way. Please understand, I respect your objections, but you _are_ a witness and your life could be in danger. While that may not be important to you, it is to me. I need you to identify those men for us and, if necessary, to appear in court."

Kristie appeared at the door. "There's a monk to see you, sir. An abbott."

"Yes, yes, send him in."

An imposing man, in what Doyle thought of as full rig, swept into the room.

Brother Philip immediately knelt.

Cowley ushered Doyle from the room.

"Think he'll talk Brother Philip round, sir?" asked Doyle.

"He doesn't need to. Brother Philip is bound to obey his superior. I've already explained the situation on the phone. What they will discuss is how Brother Philip can carry on his rule in these circumstances."

"Sir, even if he agrees there isn't much room at my place. Couldn't you send him round to Murphy? At least he's a Catholic."

"No, Doyle. I've already had a request for extra living accommodation from Murphy, they are extending their family."

"But, sir, Brother Philip could find my way of life..."

Cowley began to look amused.

"I mean," Doyle floundered on, "well, occasionally girls stay the night. Hell's teeth, it's going to be bad enough having a monk in my spare bedroom without worrying if he's going to meet Monica running round in her scanties. Could give the poor fellow heart failure." And put me right off, he thought.

Cowley looked at Doyle's agonised face and hardened his heart.

"I need someone I can trust to look after him. I've no doubt he will disappear discretely, if the situation warrants it. As to heart failure... I understand he's an ex-paratrooper. I doubt that - er - Monica will have anything on display he won't have seen before. Ah, they have finished. Is everything satisfactory, Abbott?"

"Yes, Brother Philip will be allowed to stay at your operative's flat, on the understanding that he will be allowed to carry on his religious life without interference. There is a Catholic church near you, Mr Doyle?"

"Yes, sir. St. Joe's is about fifteen minutes walk away."

The abbott glanced at Cowley, who gave him Doyle's address.

"Thank you," said the abbott. "I will inform the father in charge there. Brother Philip, give Mr Doyle an account of your daily rule, so you won't intrude on each other."

Oh, good, thought Doyle, still going to be there though, isn't he. Cheerless bugger, looking around as if he smells something nasty.

Two faces looked at Cowley, both expression bordering on dumb insolence. He ignored them.

"Very well then, Doyle, you can take Brother Philip home with you now. Bring him in tomorrow to look at the books."

"One thing, sir. I may have two bedrooms, but only one bed."

"You will find a folding bed in the corridor. Take it with you. You have a sleeping bag?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. That's all you need then. I will see you both tomorrow."

Picking up the camp bed they made their way to the car, and drove off in silence.

Doyle glanced at his companion. He had a distinctly 'broody' expression.

Can't turn his nose up at the accommodation anyway, thought Doyle. It must be better than what he's used to.

Doyle led the way into the flat; his companion followed, carrying the bed.

"My room?" asked Brother Philip.

"This one here. I should have sent those crates back last time I moved. Just chuck the cases out if they're in the way. Can I - ?"

"I'll manage." Brother Philip was putting up the bed.

"I'll switch on the hot water, so you can have a shower. Do you want some supper? Oh, what do you eat? I know about fish on Friday."

"I'm vegetarian. I'll wash and retire, thank you."

"Suit yourself," said Doyle. Going to be great company, you are, Doyle thought. Still, I suppose it's better than being stuck with someone hell bent on saving my soul and banging a tambourine all the time. He settled down to watch some television, after opening a can of beer. I'd better get some food in when I can find time. Oh, damn, what's he going to sleep in? He'd better have one of my bigger bathrobes.

Doyle announced the fact through the bathroom door. Yelled it rather, over the noise of the shower.

Later, after his late night film had finished he went to the bathroom to find his 'guest' had carefully washed through his underwear and shirt and hung them over the bath to dry - or rather to drip.

Have to do something about that, thought Doyle, before he sighed and retired for the night.

###

Doyle awoke at 7.15 to find he was quite alone. Brother Philip's bed was neatly made and the room looked different with everything packed away and the suitcases neatly stacked. He was obviously used to living in a small space, but where the hell was he? His travelling bag was still there, minus one apple.

Doyle frowned. If he called in to say he'd lost him Cowley would... Best not to think about it! Brother Philip could be at church, of course...

At 7.40 there was a brisk knock on the door. Doyle, who hadn't dared leave because Brother Philip had no key, opened the door. Brother Philip stood there, looking disgustingly bright, with a warm loaf, a bottle of milk, and a carrier bag of vegetables.

"Where the hell have you been?" asked Doyle.

"Mass. Then I did some shopping."

"How did you find your way to church?"

"I asked. There were plenty of people about. Very friendly, too. They didn't like that Scottish five pound note in your corner shop."

"No, they wouldn't, given that they come from Pakistan. Took it, did they?"

"Oh, yes. He had a cousin visiting who had seen them before. Then they showed me the greengrocers in the next road. Didn't like the one you have over there. The stuff looked wizened. But the place they showed me had some good stuff. I haven't seen some of the vegetables before. I'll have to take some back for the lads when I go home."

"That their uncle's shop," said Doyle. "Got very chatty, haven't you."

"It's Sunday. The rule is relaxed. Have you had breakfast?"

"No, and we haven't time. I'm just going to have a shower, then it's straight to work. Grab yourself a sandwich if you're hungry. And *don't* go wander off through the streets of London again without telling me. It isn't Hereford, you know. You have to come to the office with me to look at mug shots. Oh, damn, I'm going to be late again."

Doyle tore into the bathroom.

Brother Philip opened his mouth to speak, then with an expression his novice master would have immediately distrusted, began to make a cheese sandwich. He listened as the shower started running and Doyle began to sing to himself, the curtain was pulled back as he stepped under the water and a string of oaths followed.

Doyle appeared in the kitchen, clutching a towel to himself, his teeth chattering with the cold. "You didn't think to mention that you'd turned the shower to ice cold, did you," he said, radiating menace.

Brother Philip looked up, surprise written all over his face. "I always find a cold shower very invigorating first thing in the morning," he remarked, before going back to his sandwich.

In a far from good humour, Doyle get off for the office, his guest in tow.

Once there, they began to look through the books of mug shots. Doyle tentatively identified one man, and Brother Philip was definite about another.

"I don't remember him at all," said Doyle.

"That's who hit you with a cosh."

"That explains it. Are they known, sir?"

"Yes, under several names. You should be all right at your flat but keep a look out."

"Sir, can't I come to work. I'll do filing, anything. He'll be all right." Doyle gestured to Brother Philip, who was moodily eating a CI5 issue sandwich.

"Can you state with certainty that he will stay inside while you are here?"

"If you explain it to him, sir. He slipped out to Mass, and then did some shopping this morning before I was awake. Oh, and we'll need more expenses if I'm feeding him. And he needs some shoes. I can't stand the din of those boots."

"Put a chit in. Here is a copy of his daily rule."

Doyle looked at it. God, he spends all his time working or on his knees. Funny hours, too. No union like us, I suppose.

"I don't have to see he keeps to it, do I, sir?"

"Of course not. He'll do that for himself. I'll explain to him about not going out and the need for care. And that you are responsible for him. Then I can have you here, where I need you."

Brother Philip nodded brightly when it was all explained to him.

"Mr Doyle's bathroom needs painting and the plumbing wants looking at. Whoever you had doing it...Well, they did a real Micky Mouse job. I've done lots of work on bathrooms, I'll be happy to do it in my spare time."

"No," said Cowley. "Just stick to your usual routine. Doyle's flat is the responsibility of maintenance to sort out. Just confine yourself to your religious duties.

Brother Philip, looking dissatisfied, opened his mouth to protest.

"No," said Cowley.

###

Two days passed uneventfully. Doyle found it rather enjoyable to come home to a well-cooked meal - even a vegetarian one. Everything that could take a high polish in his flat had one. Repairs and mending were readily undertaken. He'd been a little surprised being asked could he borrow a sewing machine but Murphy's mum was happy to lend her portable and Brother Philip proved to be a wiz at putting zips back in jeans, letting down hems and taking them up.

"Who do you think does ours?" he asked, when Doyle expressed surprised at this expertise.

Doyle was, however, rather startled when he came home one day to find his guest chopping at his already short hair with the kitchen scissors.

"Now I know why you look like an animated loo brush," Doyle remarked. "Come on, we're going out."

"Where?" asked Brother Philip, as he got his appalling jacket.

"To get a decent haircut. It's where I get mine done."

Brother Philip looked at Doyle's curly mop. "I don't think..." he began.

"Come on, you're too old to go around looking like a punk rocker. I can't stand it another minute."

"A who?" said Bodie, as they walked down the street.

"Never mind. Here we are. The cut can go on expenses."

After one horrified look the stylist began to clip away, after washing the hair.

"You should wear a cap in future, sir, when decorating," he remarked. "This type of paint is very hard to remove."

Doyle caught the last part of what the hairdresser had said and walked over.

"Pale green," he remarked. "I'll have a talk with you later." He surveyed Brother Philip's haircut with a critical eye. "Yes, that's much better."

"Prices have gone up," said Brother Philip.

"Haven't they just," said Doyle. "Come on. We're going to Marks and Sparks. You need trainers - those boots must be ruining my carpet. And I'm sick of you washing your shirt and underwear and having them dripping around the bathroom. We're getting you a spare set, then you can throw them in the launderette, like any other Christian."

"Ray, I can't accept them. I'm - "

"You can wear them on bloody loan then, and I'll donate them to Oxfam when you leave! Satisfied? Bloody difficult, you are." Doyle walked towards the shop.

"Ray, no." Brother Philip remained firmly in the middle of the pavement.

Doyle ignored him, went in and grabbed the nearest assistant.

"My friend out there imitating a pillar of salt - the dark haired one in the awful jacket - is a shy lad and he's forgotten his measurements. Would someone estimate his inside leg for me?"

There was a giggle. "Our Mr Sims is very good at that."

Mr Simms appraised the scowling figure and suggested an approximate size. He also mentioned they stocked plenty of better fitting jackets. While agreeing, Doyle felt he would be chancing his arm by trying to get anything else passed on expenses.

Brother Philip eventually sidled into the shop because he found he was attracting too much attention while on guard duty on the pavement.

Doyle thrust packages into his arms and they started the walk home in silence. It was a moment before Doyle realised he had lost his companion, who was staring open-mouthed at the information on a bill board that nuts were responsible for causing unbridled lust.

"I'd better tell the cook to put them on the banned list," Brother Philip remarked, when dragged away. "While we're out, can we go to the Tower?" he asked hopefully. "I haven't see that."

"No, we can't. We're going right back home. I want to see what you've been doing to my bathroom. You were told to leave it alone."

"I have. I wouldn't do anything after Mr Cowley told me not to."

Doyle glanced at the innocent blue eyes and became deeply suspicious.

"Meal smells good," he said, as they entered his flat. He checked the bathroom, which seemed the same except for the gleaming taps. All the other rooms were just as he had left them, only tidier. He went into the kitchen, where Bodie was dishing up.

"OK, I give up. How did you get the paint in your hair?"

Brother Philip looked at him vaguely. "Will that be enough for you, Ray? I've made a pudding - apple crisp. I painted the vestry ceiling. What do you want on it, cream or ice cream?"

Doyle quickly latched on to the important part of that conversation.

"Which vestry ceiling? And I'd like ice cream."

"St. Joe's. Father Ryan is getting too old to climb ladders. I'll soon have it finished. I stayed after mass this morning. He gave me breakfast afterwards."

Doyle thought about it. His guest was allowed out for early morning mass, but he wasn't at all sure that covered painting vestry ceilings. He'd better consult Cowley because he had the distinct impression that anything he said to Brother Philip would go in one ear and out the other. He got on with his meal.

"That wasn't bad," he said. "You're a pretty fair cook. Thought you all lived on bread and water?"

"You've got to be kidding," said Brother Philip. "St. Benedict was very strong on good, nourishing food to keep up our strength. There is some fasting but the lay brothers always have good meals. You can't chase sheep, or work all day in the gardens on a couple of crusts."

"I looked at your...'rule', is it?"

Brother Philip nodded.

"It sounds pretty grim, either working or on your knees. Do you ever get a holiday from it?"

"Don't need one. We do get recreation every day. They're strict about that. The fathers have a walk around the grounds every week and our grounds are pretty extensive. We have an outing too - those who aren't teaching at the school. They are only too glad to get back to their cells for a little peace and quiet. Then, once a year, we all go out. Everyone except the cats. It was a day at the seaside last year. We played cricket on the beach - caused a great sensation. Look, Mummy, monks paddling. We should have sold tickets - while some of the old boys ate their packed lunches on the prom and argued about whether or not the place had changed since they last visited it in thirty-nine, was it? Or was that Prestatyn? We only do that when the school is closed for the holidays, of course, and before we start doing retreats."

"I didn't know you had a school."

"Neither did I when I joined up. I was a complete innocent. Father Abbott called me in.

"Well, Philip. How did you do at school?"

"Oh, not very well," I said brightly.

"I see, we'd better do something about that," he said gently. "You'll be more use to us with something in your head. I'll arrange a course of study for you."

"But father," I began.

He gave me a fixed stare and I was flung into the educational machine. Some days I'd be taking exams in one room and the boys in the other. I used to spend my time minding my sheep and carrying books in every pocket of my jacket. Latin grammar, my book of rule, English grammar..."

"Apple in the another," said Ray, grinning.

"Yes, always an apple. We grow them. It's a wonderful place for apples. There's a line from a poem the boys do: 'The road from Heaven to Hereford, Where the apple woods of Hereford go all the way to Wales.' Well, our orchards go a good way to Wales. I take my recreation there in the summer, sitting under a tree with a book. Just Father Abbott's bees for company. Reading and munching away..."

"You miss it, don't you," said Doyle.

"It's my home. I have a good life there."

Doyle shook his head. "I still can't understand it. I've seen your record. You aren't the sort of man to shut himself away from the world. From everything."

Brother Philip grinned. "It isn't like that. I'll explain it to you sometime. Now, I've just got time to shift those dishes. Oh, it's a holy day of obligation tomorrow, so I'll be out a little later in the morning. It's a saint's day. A special one."

"Whose?" asked Doyle suspiciously.

Brother Philip immediately reeled off the name and a potted biography.

"All right, spare me the gruesome details," said Doyle hurriedly. "Just be sure to come right back here."

"Yes, Ray. I'll do some lasagne, use up that cheese. I'll pick up some tomatoes on the way back. I've still got plenty of money left from what you gave me for housekeeping."

 

Next day, while he was busy filling in a report, Doyle noticed Murphy had come into the office.

"Hey, Murph, are there a lot of saints days with your lot? Holy days of obligation?"

Murphy looked up. "Hundreds. Someone once worked out that you could have three hundred on every day. And that's just the one's we know about, of course. Why?"

"I thought so," said Doyle wearily. "A certain blue-eyed monk is trying it on with me. Oh, hell, Cowley wants me." He went into Cowley's office.

Cowley looked at him. "Your guest, how is he behaving himself?"

"Well, sir, apart from eating a barrel of apples a week... You're going to have to speak to him again. He keep trying to put one over on me - finding excuses to slip out. I know he is allowed out for early mass but he's pulling saints' days out of a hat to give him the excuses for staying out longer. He's been painting the vestry at St. Joe's. God knows what today's excuses is for."

"Hum," said Cowley. "Would it surprise you to hear that when I passed St. Joe's in my car I could have sworn I saw him up on the roof? I'd better get on to his Abbott again. Ask him to block up any more loopholes Bodie might find. Tell Murphy to get round to St. Joseph's and bring him here - whatever he's doing."

The telephone rang and Cowley picked it up. "Oh, no, the Abbott is not available. You are? The sub-prior. Yes, I am afraid it is about Brother Philip again. I see. Excuse me, but don't I know your voice? Yes, George Cowley. Great heavens!"

Doyle was waved out of the room. When he was re-admitted into the presence, Cowley was looking satisfied.

"Very interesting, Doyle. The sub-prior and I met many years ago, in the army. We may have a problem on our hands. Apparently Brother Philip is used to a very busy life at St Michael's and probably finds your flat too confining. Perhaps I should send him down to Macklin for a short spell."

"No, sir," Doyle protested. "He's a nice fella, he doesn't deserve that. I keep telling him to take a rest and pray, or something. He said he does that while he's working."

"Here he is now." Murphy came in. He looked like a rather over-worked sheepdog. Brother Philip was in overalls, with the inevitable woolly cap.

"He was just clearing out the gutters," said Murphy.

"He didn't suggested you did the Tower on the way in, did he?" asked Doyle with interest.

"No. He came quietly. Well, fairly..."

Cowley picked up the telephone and began to dial.

"Brother Philip," he said, "there is a gentleman to speak to you. Yes, he's here," he said into the phone. "Brother Philip." He passed over the telephone receiver.

Brother Philip took it as if it might bite. He didn't say much beyond a few 'But, Father' before he subsided, until he said, "Yes, Father, I understand. One more complaint and I'm off to Ealing. Yes, Father." He replaced the handset.

"Now, Mr Murphy will take you back to Doyle's flat and you will _stay_ there," said Cowley. "Do we understand one another?"

"Yes, sir," said Brother Philip meekly.

"Good. Murphy, take him back now. Then come back here. I want you and Doyle in tonights exercise."

Murphy left with Brother Philip.

***

Many hours later Doyle struggled to get the key in the lock. He finally made it and dragged his protesting body into the kitchen. He noticed the light was on in Brother Philip's room. He glanced at his watch: two o'clock.

He set about making himself a hot drink. He was getting the milk bottle from the fridge when the bottle slipped and crashed to the floor.

"Hell!" said Doyle.

Brother Philip appeared in the doorway. He looked horribly wide awake. He stared at Doyle, who realised he must present a depressing sight, dirty and battered as he was.

"We had a few problems," Doyle said wearily. "It isn't as bad as it looks."

"It couldn't be," said Brother Philip. "I'll run you a bath. Get those wet clothes off."

Doyle looked around tiredly and prepared to sweep up the glass.

"I'll see to that. Just get those clothes off, while I run the bath."

He must think I'm one of his boys, thought Doyle. I'll tell him off later, when I feel up to it.

"The bath's ready," announced Brother Philip. "When you've finished just drop those clothes in the bath to soak. They're too filthy for the laundrette the way they are."

"Yes, mother," muttered Doyle. Eventually he did as he was told.

He was just making his way slowly toward his room after his bath when Brother Philip offered him a steaming mug.

"What's in this?" asked Doyle, sniffing at it.

"Rum, hot water and sugar. Get it down you. It'll paralyse any germs you've picked up. Father Matthew's cold cure, that is."

"Thanks, Brother Philip. I'm glad I don't have to go in tomorrow."

It was well after ten when Doyle opened his eyes. The smell of breakfast wafted into his room.

"Is that for me?" he yelled.

"Yeah. Thought it was time you were waking up. Do you want it in bed, or at the table?"

"I'll come out." Doyle struggled with his robe and literally staggered into the kitchen. "I'm stiff as a board," he muttered. "Hey, you've done me bacon."

Brother Philip shrugged. "It's what you like, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I didn't think you'd cook it for me."

"Why not? When I'm on kitchen duty I often cook meat for guests. You look tired."

"I feel it. It was a rough night. I sometimes think I'm getting too old to chase across rooftops."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Tell me something funny. I daren't turn on the radio. It gives me mollygrubs hearing all the bad news first thing."

Brother Philip sat down with a mug of coffee. "Did I tell you about the time I took the lads to the street choir last year?"

"No," said Doyle. "It doesn't sound very exciting."

"No?" said Brother Philip. "Wait till you've heard more. Imagine thirty well-scrubbed young gentlemen, all with soulful expressions, off to win a couple of cups. And the choir-master, Father Boniface - a little, grey, hairy fella, not too fast on his feet and inclined to get carried away. He once lost half a crocodile in Hereford. He was so busy pointing out the glories of the black and white half-timbering that he didn't notice half his mob had taken a sharp right turn into Woolworths. Which is why, on these treats, I'm now dragged in to provide 'backup' - is that what you call it?"

Doyle grinned. "Yes."

"So there was I, dragged protesting from sheep dipping, on account that I can ran as fast as the little sods, if necessary. I'm dressed in an immaculate habit because it's a special occasion, but still with traces of sheep-dip under my fingernails. But otherwise pristine. Off we go in the coach. We get caught in a traffic jam. The lads shuffle about. Pryce has his bubble gum confiscated when he blows one too many. Then Bretherton says 'I want to go.'."

"Funny thing about boys. There's always one who wants to go! I swear, if they announce the last judgment and told us all to line up, a lad would have his hand up saying, 'Sir, sir, I have to go.' Naturally six others decided they needed to go as well so when we'd got out of the traffic jam we pulled into one of those motorway places and I escort seven of them to the Gents, leaving Father Boniface to guard the lads in the coach and deal with requests to go and get chips, crisps and pies from the kiosk. Bearing in mind they'd just had breakfast.

"So I'm leaning against the wall outside the Gents, having a quick cigarette with Fred, the coach driver, and dealing with witticisms from the public like 'All yours, father?' and '...a nice bunch of lads...' I feel like saying they're not and I'm not. I'm fed up with explaining that my habit is different. Then out pops the sort of lad who loves bringing you bad news, you know?"

"Yeah," said Doyle. "We've got one in our mob."

"'Sir, Sir,'" he gasps, his eyes alight with excitement, 'Bretherton's stuck.' As I go to investigate, I ask how he's managed this in the Gents. It turned out there was some old ruin adjoining that part of the building. The stupid boy, bored after relieving himself, nipped through the window, up onto the roof, onto the ruin and on until he slipped and got stuck. He was hanging there, yelling blue murder. I send for Father Boniface, after detailing Fred the driver to stand guard over the rest of the coachload.

"Don't you trust them alone?" Father Boniface asks. "Oh, dear, oh, dear."

"I vote we leave him here," says I.

"We can't," he says. "He's one of the soloists. I'll go and phone the fire brigade. Can't you go up there and calm the wretched boy. He seems to be panicking."

"I agree. Muttering 'I'll panic him', I start stripping off my habit in the car park - it's impossible to climb in it - and I hear this gasp of horror from the ladies watching as events unfold. I don't know what the hell they expected. I had my jeans and trainers on underneath. Plus, which I'd forgotten, a tee shirt I'd grabbed from the Overseas Aid box, which had printed on it, 'Save water, shower with a friend.' I couldn't get through the window. The lads had joined the audience in the car park by this time and were having great giggles. I finally reached Jerome and saw he had a good foothold, so I told him what I thought of him, using small words so I could be certain he'd understand.

"The fire brigade seemed to take forever to arrive. They made quick work of it all when they got the ladder up. A man came up and tossed Jerome over his shoulder and took him down, then came back and got me to the ladder. We were both dusty, dirty and splattered with pigeon droppings. We had to wash off the worst of it in the Gents before going to the Festival. We still won a cup. Jerome took his bow at the end in a borrowed blazer and someone donated a tee shirt from one of the opposing choirs - mine was only fit for the bin. It was quite a relief to get back to the sheep-dipping the next day.

"We have rather a good photograph of the choir with their cup in the hall. Everyone looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths and me looking serene. You'd never have guessed the state I was in under my frock."

Doyle giggled. "I wish I'd seen you doing your high wire act. What are you doing up so late last night? You weren't in bed when I got in, were you?"

"No. It's time for the night service. Lauds. I read it through. I was just finishing when you came in."

"Tell me about it," said Doyle. "I'd like to try and understand."

"Well, it's when we have the great silence. No one speaks. The bell goes. We move out from our cells and line up and go to the chapel. Then the choir start. It's difficult to explain. You feel at one with your brothers and all those who have gone before. There's a further service but if I have an early start with the sheep I don't stay for that. I'm not required to be at all the services, it would cut into my work time. But once a month I have a day or two staying in the enclosure, attending all the offices. You need time to sort yourself out and see where you're going wrong. You can get so caught up in your work you forget what you're really in the order for."

"Which is?" asked Doyle.

"To know God and do his will," said Brother Philip.

"And you get enough out of it to make up for the things you've given up?"

Brother Philip thought for a moment. "I don't see it like that now. When I started I was very reluctant but life was going down hill fast. Chastity and sobriety are both a strain but I've received far more than I've given up."

"So," said Doyle, "you look after sheep and unruly boys and you're going to start in on goats?"

Brother Philip grinned. "Yes. I wait at table, I cook. I can work in the printshop - we put out a magazine and print notices for the school. I'm a dab hand in the garden. I can mend pipes, lay bricks, milk goats and do the laundry, sew mend, polish and - if my novice master has his way - do some teaching after I've taken my final vows."

Doyle looked up. "When will that be?"

Brother Philip thought for a moment. "In about seven months time. I hope they don't keep me hanging on, what with me being down here. I want to get it over with."

"Have you ever considered not going through with it?"

"Not a chance of that now. In the beginning I'd decide to pack it in about once a day. But it's right for me now. I'd like to be home in time for Easter."

"You should make it. I don't see why they can't send you to a local monastery if you're still likely to be stuck down here. I'll mention it to Cowley."

"Would you? It won't be St. Michael's but I would prefer it to this. No offence."

Doyle grinned. "None taken. Think I'll turn in now. Remember, after early Mass it's straight back here. No more roofs, gutters, or painting ceilings or you'll be for it."

Brother Philip grinned. "I know. I've been threatened with Ealing. They run a very tight ship there. Don't worry, I won't start any new jobs."

Doyle went trustfully off to bed.

Brother Philip went into the bathroom and rinsed through the dirty clothes soaking there. He would slip off to the laundrette tomorrow after Mass, it wasn't like painting ceilings. He concentrated on wondering what he was going to do about the roof. He couldn't disobey a direct command so he'd have to find someone to finish it. He hung the washing out to dry over the bath and went into the living room. He pulled the London A - Z from a bookcase and began to plot his route to Ealing before checking the small change in the jam jar. There should be enough to get him most of the way.

The following morning Brother Philip was sitting with this feet under the kitchen table at the monastery in Ealing, enjoying a welcome cup of tea and swopping reminiscences with the porter and cook, enjoying the familiar atmosphere. He reluctantly declined the offer of a mid-day meal, said his goodbyes and crossed the road to head for the tube station as the porter waved to him.

The traffic was heavy and it was a moment before Brother Philip realised a car had pulled up beside him, the driver calling his name.

　

Doyle was discussing a report in Cowley's office when the telephone rang.

"Cowley. Yes, Brother Philip is Mr Bodie. Hold him there. Was he badly hurt? Good. I'll get our own doctor to check him out, all the same. Murphy will collect him and take him to our medical unit. Yes, thank you."

Cowley set down the telephone receiver and looked across the desk. "Did Brother Philip say if he was planning any trips this morning?"

"No, sir. He said he'd be at early Mass - and that he wouldn't be staying to paint any gutters." Doyle closed his eyes with a resigned sigh. "He's suckered me again, hasn't he."

Cowley sat back in his chair. "For reasons unknown, it appears Brother Philip visited the monastery at Ealing . On his way to the underground station he was attacked by two men. Fortunately they under-estimated him and he was able to defend himself - helped by the monastery porter, who was waving him off. The porter called the police. When they arrived they found - and I quote - One man unconscious and the other had apparently collided with a plate glass door, to his detriment because he was bleeding profusely. A tourniquet was being applied by a tough-looking bloke, which saved the attacker's life. He had also immobilised their car. The man who had been unconscious came to in some discomfort - he had apparently received a heavy boot in a sensitive area - "

Doyle gave an empathic wince.

" - I'm not sure who delivered that kick," Cowley said. "Brother Philip has a broken arm, which has just been put in plaster,  but is otherwise unharmed - although I'll get our man to check him out all the same. I've instructed the Ealing police to hang on to him if they have to chain him down until

Murphy gets there."

It was the work of moments to call Murphy and sent him on his way before Cowley continued debriefing Doyle.

It seemed an age to Doyle before the telephone rang and Murphy confirmed Brother Philip was at the medical centre.

Doyle drove Cowley over there, where they found a mildly subdued Brother Philip drinking tea while his numerous abrasions were tended to.

Doyle glared at him. "I can't trust you out of my sight. What the hell were you doing at Ealing?"

Cowley ignored them both and turned to the doctor. "How is he?"

"He's suffered no real damage - he's strong as a horse - but I'd like to see him have a rest for a few hours. And a meal. See he takes it easy for a couple of days."

"The man I throw through the door," said Brother Philip worriedly, "is he all right?"

"He'll survive," said Cowley dryly. "You probably saved his life with that tourniquet. Now, I'd like a full account of what happened - including why you went to Ealing when you knew you were supposed to return straight to Doyle's flat after morning Mass."

Bodie looked mildly guilty. "I just went round to arrange a few things with the lads there. I was on the way back to the underground when those two clowns jumped me. Next thing I knew Fred had waded in. He's a good lad, I hope he won't get into trouble."

"Did your attackers speak to you?" said Cowley. "Did they appear to know you?"

"Yes, sir. I turned when I heard the call and saw one had a cosh and...well, I remembered the training I received when I was in the Para's. Thought I'd forgotten."

"Good training comes in useful," said Cowley, as the doctor returned.

"That's enough, I think. It's time he had a rest and a meal. Come on, my lad. The rest room's just through there."

Brother Philip, who had started to go rather pale, looked as if he would protest, caught Cowley's eye, and went quietly.

"It's crazy. How did they knew he was there? Or was it just a couple of anti-religious nutters. It must have been a shock if they were expecting Barry Fitzgerald and found they had an ex-paratrooper instead," Doyle said with relish.

"You can wipe that grin from your face. We were lucky. We'll get back to the office, there's something here that needs explaining. It's hardly a couple of muggers or junkies. Who would take on the likes of Brother Philip for what money he might have in his pockets."

 

They returned to Cowley's office just as Murphy arrived with a folder. "Here's the information on the two men. They're professional hit men. Brother Philip was lucky. If they'd succeeded in snatching him, the odds are he would never have been seen again."

Cowley nodded. "Get over to the medical centre and stay with him. When the doctor says he can leave, bring him back here. No detours allowed. And be careful."

"Yes, sir." Murphy departed.

 

After going through all the information and files again, Doyle and Cowley conferred.

"Why didn't they come after me?" wondered Doyle. "All Brother Philip saw were the men on the train. OK, he could be a witness against them but they're calling attention to themselves by going after him like this. And how did they know who he is when we didn't at first? It would be different if he was going around London in his habit, because he'd stand out, but in that awful plaid jacket and hob-nailed boots he fits right in, the amount of building work going on at the moment.

"As to how they knew who he was, I imagine they've been watching the monastery - just in case he was sent there - and then recognised him in this morning's paper." Cowley tossed it in front of Doyle, who frowned as he looked at the picture.

"He isn't going to like this at all."

"No, he isn't. I'll check with the doctor to see if he's fit to come over here." Cowley made the call and gave a nod of satisfaction. "Murphy's bringing him over."

 

Brother Philip, looking considerably brighter, was ushered in by Murphy, who had the look of an overworked sheepdog who'd had a very hard day.

"Suggest a quick turn around the Tower, did he?" asked Doyle with interest.

"No, matins. I reminded him that I had inside information on him and he came quietly."

"Now, Brother Philip," said Cowley, passing the newspaper to him, "you'd better read this."

Scanning the article, a look of horror grew on Brother Philip's face. "'Missing monk... No romantic involvement... "I have every confidence in Brother Philip," says Abbot. "He's probably suffering from emotional strain." ...No connection with local beauty queen, Miss Bulith Wells, seen here with Brother Philip...'"

"Bloody hell," said Brother Philip, looking up, "That picture is two years old. And that doesn't sound like my Abbot at all!"

"Of course it doesn't," said Cowley. "He'd say 'no comment' when they contacted him, so they've made it up. Local show, was it?"

Brother Philip nodded.

"They'd've checked with the local press archives."

"It's not a very good picture," said Doyle. "I wouldn't have recognised you from it. Particularly as you're wearing a habit, as well. Fine big girl, isn't she?" he added, studying the picture with renewed interest.

Brother Philip glanced at it. "The local paper thinks we're picturequese. Brother David was there, competing with Bran in the sheepdog trials. I was helping in the produce section. We took some prizes. But because Brother Stephen is so shy, I went up to collect the cup. She was a nice girl. Her mother won the honey section. I've just remembered. She can't be my romantic involvement, she's having her first baby any day now. She married a local farmer."  He looked at Cowley, who appeared to be consulting heaven.

"Another world, isn't it, sir," said Doyle, hoping to distract Cowley.

"Indeed. The men must have backtracked you from the hospital after the accident. But how? There's something we've missed. Brother Philip, is it possible that you have more information than you've given us so far? Think back. Did the men say _anything_? On the train? No matter how trivial it might seem. Tell me everything."

"I thought I had," said Brother Philip, as he tried to oblige. "I should have been on an earlier train but we had a flat tire and I ended up catching that stopping train. I got on board, hoping I would still have time to catch my connection to Chester. I'd had quite a wait on the station."

"Were you the only one who got on at that station?"

"Yes. Well, the police were there, of course. One policeman got on, the rest stayed in the car. I thought it was something to do with Ray." Brother Philip looked from Doyle to Cowley. "Have I said something?"

Cowley lent forward. "I want you to tell us everything you did from the time you left - where?"

"Saint Benedict's Abbey," said Brother Philip. "Right, here goes. "Once I was at the station I settled down to wait for the stopping train. It was cold, so I walked round a bit - I knew I had over an hour to wait for it to arrive. There wasn't much - well, anything - to look at so I noticed when the police car pulled in at the side of the station. I thought they must be meeting someone on the train. It's a funny thing though because for a moment I thought I recognised the Inspector - from my days in the mercs." He glanced at Cowley. "You knew I used to be one?"

"Yes. Go on. Were they local officers, Scots?"

"The uniform looked ordinary enough. The only one I heard speak wasn't a Scot. They looked me over but when the Inspector looked straight through me I thought I must have been mistaken because he would have known me all right. When I saw him close up his hair and pose seemed different."

"But you still think it could have been him, in spite of that?"

Brother Philip nodded slowly. "But it's been a long time. I haven't seen him for years."

"I'd like a statement. His name, as you knew it then and everything you can tell me about him and his activities from those days. Until this matter is cleared up we're going to have to find you a new home. But first we'll both need to speak to your Abbott. I'll have a word with him first, explain the general situation."

Brother Philip eyed him with an unease which only grew when he heard Cowley bring the Abbott up to date with his activities.

"Your Abbott would like a word with you," said Cowley eventually, handing Brother Philip the telephone receiver.

Brother Philip accepted it gingerly. "It's Brother Philip, Father." There was a lengthy pause. "But Father..."

***

Brother Philip moved cautiously. The car rocked and he stilled immediately. Ray was a dead weight across his chest and he felt for and found a pulse.

"Thank God," he murmured, worrying how badly Ray might be hurt.

He carefully moved his own body; everything seemed to be in working order. He could remember Ray muttering, "Oh hell!" before the car had lurched out of control, despite Doyle's best efforts and they had gone over the edge, their careering fall stopped only by a clump of bushes. The other car, which had been trying to drive them off the road, hadn't been so lucky - He could remember an explosion.

He peered through the cracked side window and saw that wreckage was still smouldering far below them and there was the smell of -

He silently prayed for the souls of the dead before it occurred to him that someone might still be alive.

He couldn't move without rocking their car. Until there was enough light to see how they were fixed it was sensible to stay put.

He kept watch as best he could, the wind which had got up making it difficult to differentiate the various sounds. But when some small stones pattered onto the roof of the car he realised he hadn't been imaginining it. Someone was coming down the slope.

He felt under Doyle's jacket for his gun, easing it from the holster, a task not helped by Doyle's dead weight against him.

Brother Philip studied it carefully, reminded of the days when his name had been Bodie. He had sworn he would never touch a gun again but he wasn't about to let them take Doyle.

"I say!" called a voice. "Anyone there! I can get a rope down to you. Just you stay still for now."

Brother Philip recognised the voice and closed his eyes in relief, the hand holding the gun beginning to shake now. He recocked it and returned the gun to its holster and gave thanks that the army had chosen tonight to be out on manoeuvres.

"You're out late, aren't you, Captain McKenzie?" Brother Philip remarked.

"Manoeuvres. An all night job," said the captain, his teeth gleaming in his blackened face. "What are you doing so far from home?" As he spoke he was deftly attaching another rope. "And how's your friend?"

"He'll need a stretcher. The others, in the car below?"

"Not much chance, I'd say. I'll send men down once we've got the abseiling gear. There, that should keep the pair of your safe until I get back up there and on the radio."

***

Doyle opened his eyes and looked around drowsily. He was still in one piece, if rather battered, from the pain lurking beneath the drugs. But it didn't feel too serious and there weren't many bandages. Brother Philip, wearing his habit, was sitting at his bedside.

"Well, get you," said Doyle. "Ow, my head. Think I must have bumped it."

"You did. On the car roof. I cushioned the rest of you, apart from that flesh wound you got. You bled and ruined that shirt you got me. Father Hugh says they can't get the stain out. It'll still be good enough to work it, of course."

"How did I get here? Where are we, come to that?"

"We are in a military hospital, courtesy of some nice lads who would rather remain anonymous. They rescued us. One of our flock found us. He was out on night manouvres with the lads."

"Ah," said Doyle. "Them. Competitors! Still, it was decent of them to lend a hand. What happened to Morgan. Did any of his men get away?"

"No. The last one died in hospital this morning. The police and CI5 have had a statement from me. Mr Cowley and my Abbott asked if I could be here when you came round so I could put you in the picture. They'll be moving you to London tomorrow."

"Oh, God. That bloody helicopter," groaned Doyle. "It always makes me queasy. Still, it's good to see you're safe. Be a mate and go and tell someone I've come to. I'm hungry!"

***

"And now, Brother Philip," said the sub-prior, "I would like a full explanation of your conduct in London. I should tell you, Abbot Hilarion has ben on the phone. He is much displeased..."

"Ah," said Brother Philip, looking pensive. "It's quite simple really. You remember I told you about Father Ryan's roof."

"No," said the sub-prior. "But as Mr Cowley has already mentioned your activities on it to me in passing we will leave it at that for the moment. Continue."

Brother Philip assumed an expression of misunderstood virtue. "Well, yes, he didn't like me getting up there to clear out the gutters and make a few repairs. I knew I couldn't leave the poor old soul with a leaky roof and I remembered the lads out at Ealing. And as it was on my way..."

"Just a moment," snapped the sub-prior. "Saint Joseph's church and Mr Doyle's flat were, I understand, about half a mile apart. How is Ealing on your way - just as a matter of interest?"

Brother Philip looked suprised. "I pass the entrance to the tube station on the way, don't I. They have these all-day tickets now, which are very useful."

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that. It's a pity you didn't decide to become a Jesuit, Philip, you'd be a natural. Carry on."

"So I caught the tube. I had to change a couple of times. When I got to Ealing I called in on the lads - well, the porter. They're a good bunch of blokes there and I thought they'd enjoy a change from teaching the little bu - children. I told them about Father Ryan needing some good sturdy lads to fix his roof and asked them to pass the message on to their boss."

"Oh, they did," said the sub-prior. "It didn't occur to you to try an order closer to the church?"

"You wouldn't have wanted me to call on another order to finish one of our jobs," said Brother Philip, looking shocked.

"I wouldn't?" said the sub-prior, surprised.

Brother Philip moved on with some haste. "Well, Father Ryan will have his roof mended by the end of the month."

"I understand a local branch of the Franciscan order will be keeping an eye on him in the future. He really should have told someone it was all getting too much."

"You know how it is," said Brother Philip. "He got in touch with head office and was still waiting months later. The usual story. I wish I'd known about the Franciscans. I could have gone round and had a chat with them."

"No doubt. I know you genuinely meant well and Father Ryan speaks highly of you and the help you gave him - which is no more than I would expect of you. But you caused a great deal of anxiety and inconvenience to the people who were trying to protect you. Not to mention annoyance to Mr Cowley, who has a difficult enough job without having a hare-brained monk to worry about. Even if your life hadn't been under threat you can't go strolling through the streets of London as though you were up the mountains."

Brother Philip sifted uneasily on his seat. "No, father."

"And," said the sub-prior, metaphorically spitting on his hands, "you took advantage of Mr Doyle's ignorance of your rule to deceive him. And it was deceit! I have had a long talk with Mr Doyle. He's recovering well. He tried to cover for you during our conversation. I think he was afraid you would be spending some time in a dungeon, on bread and water. Unfortunately that's against our rules. I am agreeing to your request for a weeks' retreat. You need to think long and hard about your conduct. I understand there is plenty of work for you to do while you're enclosed. Then, when Mr Doyle arrives at the guest house to recuperate, you will be responsible for him."

Brother Philip looked up.

"I told Mr Cowley that the quiet here, and the good, plain food, would speed his recovery far more than the hurly burly of London. Mr Doyle has no family to take care of him. I welcome the chance to repay his hospitality to you. You may go now."

***

"Brother Philip wants what?" said Cowley in surprise.

"A group photo, sir," said Doyle glumly, keeping his eyes resolutely fixed on a sport about twelve inches above Cowley's head. "Of us all. You too, sir. I told him you'd never agree - for security reasons."

"I cann't see, even allowing for misplaced sentiment - which I would not have suspected Brother Philip of - what he could want such a thing for."

"Neither could I at first. Then he explained. Apparently they have to have someone in particular to pray for - specifically, I mean. Not just the world and big stuff like that. Well, Brother Philip has no family as such and I think," said Doyle heavily, "he has us all marked down as people who need a lot of praying for. I told him it wouldn't be allowed, of course."

"He's probably quite right," said Cowley. "If ever a group of people needed praying for, we are it. And if our photograph would not be secure in a Benedictine monastry I fail to see where it would be. Also, given Brother Philip's relentless determination to do his job at all costs, it would be better if he got his photo as soon as possible.  What have you done about it?"

"Well," said Doyle, looking relieved, "as we all have to attend that meeting on Friday, then seemed the best time. It will only take a couple of minutes at most. That leaves Macklin and his lads out, of course. I thought that wouldn't matter but Brother Philip said no, he wanted everyone. Seems he _enjoyed_ that week you sent him down to the centre. I'll arrange to have a photo of them taken separately."

"You'd better get on with it then," said Cowly. "I imagine Brother Philip wants to start putting in a good word for us as soon as possible."

"Absolutely," said Doyle. "You know him, very firm on these matters. Nice thought though, I suppose. I bet he gets everyone else in there putting in a good word too. I'd better sort out some paperbacks for them. Murph can vet them for suitability. I wonder if a couple of bars of Fruit and Nut would get through the wire..."

***

Brother Philip looked at the stacks of books on his desk in surprise. There were several slips of paper sticking out of the volume on the largest pile. He pulled one out.

Brother Philip, heard you were in retreat. We have received a large parcel of paperbacks from friends of yours in London. Only two have been rejected, on the grounds of inaccuracy. I may have left the world many years ago but I refuse to believe the female form has altered to that extent!

Brother Michael

Brother Philip pulled out another slip of paper, which contained a scrawled note.

_Phil, as soon as they let you out get down to the greenhouse and see what we've managed to grow._

Stephen.

He raised his eyebrows, speculating wildly: cannabis, Jack's beanstalk?

There was a very dour note from David, detailing every disease, disaster and death which had befallen the flock during his absence. His final remark _Glad you are back_ struck a chilling note.

He glanced at the piles of books and saw a final note from his novice master.

_Philip, I think it's about time you passed this exam so let's stop mucking around, shall we? A list of required reading followed. _The Abbott has agreed that you may accept these books and write and thank Mr Cowley.__

Brother Philip studied the books, which were exactly what he would have chosen for himself. Then he remembered when Doyle had taken him to Foyles. He'd had a wonderful time looking around, had even made a list of some of the books he wanted. These books.

There was one final letter addressed to him.

_Dear Brother Philip,_

I am aware that you cannot accept 'expenses' for the time you spent with us but am advised that you will be permitted to accept these books.

With my best wishes,

George Cowley

Brother Philip loosened his collar and settled at his desk. The group portrait, plus a smaller print of the lads at the training centre, all beaming away, hung on the wall. They looked quite at home already.

He pulled a face at the study list on his desk, then resolutely started work. When that was done he could catch up on the news of his 'family' from Ray.

***

The latest edition to the Murphy family was getting baptised at St John's. Brother Philip looked into the distance. He could do with a holiday. He must have a word with the Abbott. A week down there would do him the world of good. Of course, a fortnight would be even better. The bishop needed a kick in the pants for failing to notice how tired Father was getting.

Ray would be up here in the autumn. He'd need a break by then, he said. Batteries were getting flat.

Work, Brother Philip reminded himself sternly, or he would have to put himself on report. Besides, if he got cracking there would just be time to get down to the orchards and get the spraying underway...


End file.
